


Ghostwriter

by trololonasty



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Finn is a precious cinnamon roll who needs protecting from the world and himself, Isaiah is a matchmaker & a good friend & he's too done with this shit, Language, a girl from a good indian family meets a boy from a not so good gypsy family, because of what a good friend he is, in this house we stan a saint, so it's time to take matters into his own hands he desides, totally unappreciated but good nevertheless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 20:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16415642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trololonasty/pseuds/trololonasty
Summary: It was all about helping a friend in need.





	Ghostwriter

Finn was the youngest out of all the Shelby siblings, but he was by far not any less capable. At least that was what he was telling himself every time his brothers not so gently instructed him to shut it or to stay back or when Aunt Pol proceeded with mothering him. He knew they only saw him as a child, but he wasn’t a child anymore. He wasn’t a man either. He was exactly in that awkward age when everyone kept treating you like a kid despite your vigorous protest and complete contempt for patronising. Being a teenager was hard.

It was nothing compared with being in love. Radha Chakravarti, the girl living down the street, was what he called a definition of perfect. Her family was neither rich nor poor – her father owned a small shop on the corner of Carleton Road and Green Lane; they were respectable and very traditional. There was no way in hell they would let their daughter mix with outsiders, let alone with one of the Shelby boys. They knew exactly what kind of men they were since the Peaky Blinders were still running protection for the majority of small businesses in Small Heath, with Mr Chakravarti being no exception. Besides, she was way out of his league. She was smart, and funny, and educated enough to help her father out in the shop every now and then. Finn stood no chance. 

But it didn’t stop him from paying close attention to her ( _“I’m not stalking”_ , he would protest when teased by Isaiah, much to the latter’s delight, _“I’m just keeping an eye on. It’s a dangerous fucking neighbourhood, mate.”_ ) and maybe a little too eagerly volunteering to come by their shop to ensure that everything was going well in terms of their protection deal. He would put on a very serious, very professional face while talking to Mr Chakravarti and would get completely flustered if Radha happened to speak to him or look at him for longer than five seconds. Judging by the warning looks Mr Chakravarti was giving him at those moments, he was perfectly aware of what was going on with Finn and wasn’t exactly fond of the idea. Well, Finn had thought as much. He was wondering, however, if Radha was as perceptive as her father.

Even if she wasn’t, he was still royally screwed. 

“Not to sound too extreme, but why don’t you just talk to her?” Isaiah offered for a billionth time as they sat at the Garrison, with Finn sighing and brooding. “She won’t bite your head off, you know. Well, at least I don’t think she will.”

“Gee, thank you for your words of wisdom, Isaiah.” Finn rolled his eyes. “That’s encouraging.”

“I just mean why pining when you may not have a reason to?” He shrugged. For Isaiah, everything in life was simple as pie. 

However, Finn had to admit that he had a point. If only he was a bit more confident like Isaiah or his brothers, he wouldn’t have found himself in such a hopeless situation. Now he was nearly at his wits’ end.

“I can’t. Okay? I can’t talk to her.” He swirled a drink in his hand, refusing to look up. “I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“Well, no one is really immune to that.” At Finn’s dirty stare, he threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. “All right, if talking is not an option, then why don’t you write her a letter or a note or something?”

If looks could kill, Isaiah would have dropped dead right that minute. 

“You know I can’t write, genius.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Assuming an accusatory tone, Isaiah pointed a finger at him. “How many times have I offered to teach you? And what did you say? _‘Piss off, Isaiah, I don’t have time for this’_ ,” he mocked. “That’s what you get for being so fucking busy doing what exactly?” He shook his head, with a laugh which indicated that he was just messing around. “Relax, Romeo. I can write it for you if you like.”

“Really?” Finn looked him over suspiciously. 

“Really. That’s what friends are for, innit? Besides, I got really tired of watching you sulk. It’s unbearable.” 

“Fuck you.” He chuckled, thumping Isaiah’s shoulder in a friendly warning. 

“You’re welcome.” Isaiah smirked.

Finn already had a bad feeling about this.

*** 

Finn definitely had a bad feeling about this. Why was it so hard? He wasn’t ready. Hell, maybe he would never be ready. 

Radha was standing less than four feet from him, the familiar and a bit crumpled envelope in her hand. It had been two days since he tossed it in the letterbox. He knew she checked it every morning, so the risk of it landing into the wrong hands was pretty low. And by ‘wrong hands’ he meant the hands of her father who was already beyond suspicious of Finn, to say the least, thank you very much. Her face was impenetrable. Beads of cold sweat broke out on his brow. He very much felt like fainting or running away. Or running away _and_ fainting – in no particular order.

It was the moment of truth.

She glanced at the envelope, then back at Finn before speaking.

“Did you write this?”

An invisible hand stabbed him in the stomach and twisted the blade.

“Yes,” he forced out, shifting uncomfortably. It was not so much of a lie since he had told Isaiah what to write and the latter basically acted as his secretary. He was not going to bother her with those minor details when he was hardly able to put two words together without stumbling. 

“Right,” she simply nodded. 

He expected her to shout at him, to demand to leave her alone. Or maybe not, but in any case, he imagined something more emotional. This moderate reaction was petrifying. 

“Are there… Are there mistakes?” He asked the first thing that came into his panicking mind. He started blabbering. It was _not_ good.

“Mistakes?” She chuckled. She spoke with a slight accent which she picked up from her parents, softening the ‘T’s. It sounded adorable. “Unless you don’t dream of grabbing my face and kissing me senseless, I believe there are none.”

“Wh-What?” He blinked stupidly, staring at her with wide eyes. A wave of dread washed over him. And where did all the air go? There surely wasn’t enough because he was beginning to suffocate all of a sudden. 

“Your letter.” She waved it in front of him, looking rather amused. “Or did you not know what you wrote?”

 _Isaiah_ , Finn’s brain had finally caught up. The bastard had pranked him. He was _so_ dead. If Finn didn’t suffer from a heart attack in the nearest fifteen minutes, that was. 

Oh, bloody hell.

“I... I do,” Finn stuttered. “Well, actually, I don’t. I mean I know what I wanted to write and that was not it,” he sighed, defeated. “Not in so many words anyway.” 

He should have gone to Ada for help. She wouldn’t have done this to him. She didn’t have such a twisted sense of humour. Now it all was Isaiah’s fault.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he muttered almost inaudibly, tearing off the cap of his head in a desperate excuse for an action. 

“Sorry?”

Finn glanced at Radha’s slightly confused expression, running a distraught hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Well, it’s a shame because I kind of liked it.” Radha shrugged her shoulders with a playful smile.

He couldn’t believe he was hearing her right. 

“You did?”

“I mean you’re lucky my parents haven’t seen it since they wouldn’t have appreciated the sentiment, but well, you know.” She gestured with her hand, twisting her wrist. “It was passionate.” 

“It was?”

At that point, he didn’t know what to expect so he was ready for anything. Or so he’d like to believe. Radha laughed, and the sound of it evoked a warm feeling in his stomach. 

“It was,” she confirmed. “But you didn’t know that because you didn’t write it, did you?”

She sent him a knowing look, and he knew it was no use pretending.

“The… friend who was helping me with writing it down took a bit of artistic liberty.”

She nodded in acknowledgement. 

“So, you can’t write nor read.”

He hadn’t thought much of it, but now he suddenly felt ashamed to confess. Like he was incomplete in some way. 

“No.” His voice was barely above a whisper, eyes cast to the ground. 

“I can teach you.”

Finn jerked up his head, shocked.

“What?”

“I can teach you.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “If you like.”

His mouth opened, then closed several times, unable to produce any sound. 

“I d-do,” he finally managed. “I’d love to. But what about your parents?”

He remembered Mr Chakravarti’s menacing stares and didn’t wish to create any ill feelings before it was absolutely necessary. 

Radha wiggled her head, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. 

“They surely wouldn’t mind my helping a friend in need.”

“So are we friends?” It remained unclear if it was to be considered as a good sign or a bad sign. 

“Sure.” She smiled. “It’s a good place to start, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he agreed hurriedly. “Friends are great. I love friends.”

Radha raised her eyebrows in mild amusement, watching his frantic attempts to figure out what was going on and how exactly it had come to it. It was endearing, honestly. 

She halfway turned to leave – she had been gone for good twenty minutes now, so she’d better go back into the shop before her father came out looking for her – but stopped in her tracks.

“Just please don’t forget that I’m from a good Indian family,” she said, a smug smirk stuck to her lips.

Despite himself, Finn felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth until his expression finally matched hers. 

“And I’m from a good Gypsy family,” he shouted right back and watched her do that little head bobble of hers as her smile grew wider before she disappeared behind the back door of the shop. “Not sure it’s actually a thing though,” he muttered to himself, walking away with the stupidest grin on his face. 

And maybe Isaiah would live.


End file.
